


Massive Poles and Pretty Faces

by Janice_Lester



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim feels the need to make conversation.  Sexy conversation, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massive Poles and Pretty Faces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "dirty talk" square of my third [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. Beta'd by [](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/profile)[vee_dub](http://vee-dub.livejournal.com/).

“Hey, Bones, you think my massive pole is big enough for you?”

On the neighbouring pole, Bones rolled his eyes.

Jim smirked, drumming his bare feet against the enormous wooden round on which he was currently perched. It was amazing how widely rituals to demonstrate friendly, peaceful intent could vary from nation to nation, planet to planet, solar system to solar system. On Margreb X, the landing party had been obliged to go out into the fields and pick precisely one hundred and fourteen of the blue-purple wildflowers scattered among acres of red ones, in order to present the appropriate gift to the King’s designated Eldest Daughter (who was designated in the sense that she was picked from the populace; Margrebian Kings were ceremonially castrated upon taking the role at the age of twelve, and thus never actually reproduced). On Delta IV… well, under regulations, Starfleet officers unfortunately weren’t permitted to partake of any of the Deltans’ local ceremonies, and instead generally picked something from one of Earth’s, Andoria’s, or Tellar’s cultures (or, if Spock was being particularly pissy or they’d had enough danger and excitement lately that a bit of brain-numbing tedium had begun to sound good, Vulcan’s) to perform instead. And Zalgratia Prime had this—

“I think mine’s bigger, actually, Jim,” Bones said, and lifted his eyebrows.

“We’ll compare later. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

Anyway, here they were, on Veledian XII, where to prove how charming and agreeable and, apparently, really fucking _patient_ they were, they all had to sit on these flat-topped former tree trunks, ten feet off the ground, until sunset. Only then would they be judged worthy to meet the local pan-tribal chieftain to discuss mining rights for the planet’s dense mineral deposits.

Despite Bones’s earlier dire warnings about just how seriously a fall from even this height could fuck you up (“…broken ribs, punctured lungs, and if you fall on your chest just right you could instantly stop your…”), the biggest danger seemed to be boredom. Hence Jim’s heroic and so far unappreciated attempts at conversation.

“In some cultures,” he offered thoughtfully, “the man with the smaller penis always tops. It’s a rule or something.”

“Really,” Bones said.

“I read it somewhere,” Jim said airily. “I think it’s silly. Obviously, the guy who digs getting fucked more should be the one who gets fucked. So clearly we have to set up some kind of trial where we both—”

“This _is_ another one of your attempts to get me to sleep with you, isn’t it?”

“Why, Bones, who said anything about sleep?”

He got another eye-roll for that. “You do know I have a girlfriend, right? Name of Charlene Masters? Not gonna speak for her, and she may not be willing to share. She’s kinda picky, and I don’t blame her one bit.”

“I’ll ask _very_ politely,” Jim insisted. “I’ll be adorable. And if not, I’ll take my rejection like a grown-up.”

“That’ll be a first,” Bones muttered.

Jim ignored him. “So, any other objections to indulging in the spectacular hunk of sexual awesome that is me?”

Bones sighed and waved his hands. “I’m not real big on sex with men, Jim. You know that. To get me going, a man has to be a whole lot more than a pretty face, Captain’s stripes, and one hell of an ass.”

Jim had to pause there a moment to preen silently. He _did_ have one hell of an ass. Pity the ‘fleet had ignored his requests to install those time-delay mirrors so that he—er, so that his whole wonderful crew could admire such things without doing themselves embarrassing neck injuries that would have to be dutifully reported to Medical. “I’m not just a pretty face,” he managed, by way of a slightly-tardy comeback.

Bones moved, then, wriggling around atop his pole so that he faced Jim. Jim mirrored the action. “I need to know that a man knows what he’s doing. That he can get me off in three minutes if he wants or draw it out and out and out, depending on our mood. That he knows his limits, and blowjobs are going to end with fireworks or with a graceful withdrawal to manual stimulation, not thirty seconds before the good part with him complaining to high heaven about his injured fucking jaw. That he thinks of my pleasure before his own and trusts me to put his first. That he knows when to say when. That he’s open to trying new things.”

“I’m open,” Jim said. “I’m so open. Especially if Lieutenant Masters is willing to join in—” He frowned. “What new things?”

Bones’s smile was positively _evil_. “I am really, really good with my hands. This one woman, I had three fingers in up front—” he gestured “—and then I took my other hand and I—”

It’s just possible Jim actually swooned at this point. He kinda lost track of the situation, flushed from the chest all the way up, and suddenly had to concentrate to maintain his perch and not go hurtling to the golden grass below. The thought of Bones’s hands, and a naked writhing Charlene Masters (who was all kinds of hot even when she _wasn’t_ talking about theoretical warp physics like it was something she’d conquered when she was three), and a naked writhing Jim (well, he had _two_ hands, right?) was just—

“…Vastly underrated, if you ask me. People hear ‘fisting’ and they panic, but you wouldn’t panic, would you, Jim? Jim?”

“Oh my God,” Jim realised, quite possibly a little late in the game. “You’re one kinky fucker.”

Leonard McCoy only smiled serenely, and continued to perch on his pole as if it was a throne.

***END***


End file.
